Page 1 of Mostly Shattered

Chapter

One

I’m not a stalker.

I may bestalking, but I’m not a stalker.

I like to think of it as watching, but if I were honest with myself—which I’m not sure I want to be in this case—I’m dwelling on my pain. There is an ache inside of me, deeper than breathing, harder than death. I had everything that mattered. For one tiny moment, I had it—hope, normalcy, Chinese food with a man who loved me and the birth mother who accepted me.

Then I lost it all.

I want so badly to be normal.

I watched my adopted brother, Conrad, shoot and kill the man I love. Paul died in my arms. Have you ever had someone you love die in your arms? Ikeep reliving that horrible second when his breathing stopped.

I trusted Conrad more than anyone in the world, and he betrayed me.

It’s a long story and one that I don’t particularly want to talk about, but it is in my head, churning my thoughts, haunting my nightmares, and filling my bones with a hollow emptiness that eats away at my very core. Even now, if I close my eyes, I feel Paul being ripped away from me. My skin literally aches to hold him again. I want so badly to go back in time, to that moment in the hotel room when we were naked and alone and hidden from the cruel supernatural world.

It’s not fair.

I fucking hate this.

I’m not being dramatic. At least not in this case. The pain is real. It breaks my heart, over and over again.

I wish someone would stab me in the chest so I don’t have to feel it.

Our entire relationship seems like a bad hallucination because here I am, sitting on a bench, watching Paul and his daughter, Diana, play catch with their new retriever.

I fight back the grief of loss and close my eyes, even as I know I’ll see the flash of his death tormenting me. In some ways,I need to see that moment. I need that reminder and that pain. Otherwise, I’d get up from my bench and I’d go to him. Then he and his daughter would both be in danger again.

It’s best they don’t remember.

“Paul,” his name forms on my lips, but I don’t call out.

He looks in my direction, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I will him to recognize me, to remember that alternate timeline when we were in love before magic screwed everything up.

He doesn’t.

Of course, he doesn’t. Some magic can’t be reversed.

It was such a short time that we were together, but I can’t move past the idea of us.

I can’t see Paul’s eyes, but I remember the soulful light brown vividly. He’s had a haircut recently. The brown waves are tamer than when we were together. When I close my eyes at night, I can still feel him against me, and I hear his whispering voice. It’s faint and far away, but I do everything I can to hold on to it.

“Dad!” a distant shout washes over me, followed by laughter.

They’re so much better without me.

I don’t want to admit how I tracked Paul and Diana to a dog run near the East River, just downfrom Central Park and my Upper East Side home. Let’s just say being in a wealthy, supernatural family comes with some perks—even when you’re the only mortal blood relative.

Diana takes off running, and their dog chases her.

I’m the only one who remembers that other life. Well, me and the asshole ghost of Conrad, who has decided his new favorite thing is making my life a living hell. I used to think that Conrad and I were close. We were both mortals being raised in a magical family—the odd kids out. My parents adopted him from foster care when I was five.

My father had an affair with a human, Lorelai, and then brought me home to his wife to raise. I can’t say I blame Lady Astrid for having deep—if not highly suppressed—emotions about that scenario. Finding out my origin story as an adult sure explained a lot about my childhood.

I pick up the notepad on my lap to continue writing. In the digital age, handwriting letters is old-fashioned, but it feels safer and more private than email. Yes, I know magic protects my phone from hacking, but I’ve been having trust issues with everything lately. As I try to concentrate on what I’ve already written, I hold the pen at the ready while I read to myself.

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